


For What Binds Us

by agent_orange



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Beaches, Best Friends, First Kiss, Frottage, Hand Jobs, High School, M/M, Marijuana, Playing Hooky, Shotgunning, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-25
Updated: 2014-07-25
Packaged: 2018-02-10 07:37:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2016564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent_orange/pseuds/agent_orange
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You haven't missed a day of school in almost a year, and you need one off."</p>
            </blockquote>





	For What Binds Us

A couple weeks before Nate's early decision application for Dartmouth is due (the date's heavily circled in red Sharpie on Nate's calendar), he wakes up to the smell of bacon cooking and Brad's voice filtering in from downstairs.

"You know how stressed he gets, Mrs. Fick—" here, Nate's mother clucks her tongue "—so I thought I'd pick Nate up for school today," Brad says. "Don't want him driving distracted."

"That's so thoughtful of you, Brad," Nate's mom says. "Let me get you some bacon. It'll only take a second."

Nate must fall back asleep, because the next thing he knows, Brad's sitting on top of him. "Time to get up, loser."

"I can't _breathe_ ," Nate wheezes, and Brad relents.

"You run cross country," he mocks. "You should be used to not breathing."

Nate flips him the bird and pads into the adjacent bathroom. He's half-hard, which is fucking great, though if Brad noticed, he didn't say anything. Since Julie dumped him in September, Brad's been playing the field, which basically means he's fucked most of the hot girls in their class, so it's not like Brad's been available, but that hadn't stopped Nate from looking.

The timing's fucking perfect, obviously. Nate's been friends with Brad since freshman year and only realized last spring that he wants to fuck Brad. There isn't time to jerk off, though, so Nate takes a freezing cold shower instead of a hot one, gets dressed, and goes down for breakfast.

"Brad!" Nate's mom says. "I know Ray's a little...different, but you shouldn't say things like that about your friend." She's smiling; she never gets angry at Brad. Sometimes Nate thinks she likes Brad more.

"Morning." He grabs bacon right from the skillet (to show Brad he's really _not_ a pussy) and a bagel from the toaster, sitting down across from Brad. As soon as Brad licks grease off his lips, Nate realizes his mistake. Should've sat next to him, but he can't get up now. It'd look weird. All he can do is think about calculus and wind sprints and other unsexy things.

"How are your applications coming along, Brad?" Nate's mom asks.

"Oh my God, if somebody brings up college one more time I'm going to _die_ ," Nate moans, only half-joking.

Brad grins. "My Caltech one is finished, but I think I want to—"

"Shut the fuck up, _please_ ," Nate interrupts, earning himself a disapproving look from his mom. "Fine, we're leaving, okay? I'll finish this in the car."

"See you, Mrs. Fick," Brad calls when they're halfway out the door, pausing to wave; Nate pushes him forward with an aggravated _go_! "Dude," he starts.

"Don't even say it."

"Get your mind out of the gutter, Fick. I was _going_ to say 'a really good cook' before I was so rudely interrupted."

"Sure," Nate says, cranking up the volume of Brad's car stereo, singing along with Air Supply even though he can't stand them. _Inside it's so easy to breathe, but never so easy to leave / And just when I try, the fence gets too high / So I sleep with my head on my sleeve_. Brad joins in for the last verse, loud and slightly off-key: _And I dream of us flying away to a place that is out of the way / And there's somebody there who says I don't care / Who you are, where you're from, what you need / Or what you're thinking, we love you anyway_.

He's so distracted that he barely sees the exit that would take them to OCS High come and go, and he clicks off the music. "Missed the exit, asshole," he says. "You can explain why I'm late for Gov to Ferrando. I know how much you love him."

"Fuck you," Brad says without any venom. "We're not going to school."

" _What?_ " Nate hisses. His hand tightens on the radio dial and his jaw tenses. "I've got a problem set due in Calc and a debate in Gov and I'm presenting on No Exit in English and like eight other applications to finish and—"

"Calm the _fuck_ down," Brad orders. "I already called and told them you've got a bug and are puking your guts out."

"You what?" Just because Brad's got a ten-year master plan that's going perfectly doesn't mean he gets to fuck with Nate's life.

"Seriously, relax. You haven't missed a day of school in almost a year, and you need one off. You've been taking more Ripped Fuel than Ray. Besides, one day away from your books won't kill you. And Dartmouth already loves you: you're captain of the cross-country team; straight-A student; fucking obsessed with community service; and you got, what, a 1400 on the SAT?"

"1440," Nate quietly corrects. Even though he hates to admit Brad's right...well, he's right. Nate's been staying up until two AM to get everything finished; sometimes he doesn't sleep at all. He's so tired, and taking a break from it all—a short one—would probably help him work more effectively.

"I'm glad you see the light." Brad smiles, wide and genuine, and Nate likes the fact that he put it there. "Got some smokes in my backpack. Can you grab them?"

They're Parliaments, only because Nate won't smoke anything else, and he waits for Brad to light his before tapping one out for himself. "Where are we going, anyway?" he asks. The smoke ring he blows out the window is the same color as the sky, and it disappears quickly.

"The beach," Brad answers.

"It's _November_ ," Nate protests.

"Did you forget we live in California? It's not even that cold out," he says. "Turn the music back on."

Nate does, even though the wind drowns out Russell Hitchcock's voice, leaving only the guitar line audible.

*

The beach is empty, but that's to be expected. It's overcast and unusually chilly, too late in the fall to be pretty. Brad picks a spot down by the water to sit, and Nate drops down next to him, smoking another cigarette and enjoying the comfortable silence. Finally, Nate speaks. "Why'd you pick today?"

Brad shrugs. "Dunno. Needed to do it before the due date got too close. I know how much you freak out about deadlines." Another minute passes, and then Brad says, "Actually...I think I've got something that'll help chill you out." He unzips three (possibly more) hidden backpack pockets before fishing out a small Ziploc bag of weed.

Nate doesn't really smoke pot that much. If he did, it'd fuck with his cross-country performance more than his occasional cigarette smoking; plus he's paranoid about getting caught. But the season's almost over and they're all alone, so he flicks the lighter on. It's a cheap black Bic, and it sputters a few times before the flame gets big enough to use. When he inhales, it feels like his lungs are on fire. Nate doesn't remember it being this bad before; he coughs it out too soon.

Brad rolls his eyes. "I can't believe I'm friends with such a huge pussy. Come here."

"Why?" Nate asks. Brad hates questions, hates explaining things that are obvious to him.

"Just do it." He sticks the joint in his mouth, relighting the flickering flame, and inhales deeply, eyes closed. Absently, Nate notices just how blond Brad's eyelashes are, almost invisible against his skin. Then Brad pulls Nate closer to him, broad hand curled around Nate's neck, and exhales right into Nate's mouth.

The smoke is warm, but Brad's chapped lips are even warmer against Nate's mouth. It's much smoother this way; the feeling less centered in one spot, more all-encompassing. He breathes it in, letting the sensation wash over him and the tension seep out of his body on an exhale.

And then it hits him. Brad's kissing him and it's good and isn't this what Nate's wanted for months now? The answer's yes, but he jerks back in shock anyway.

Under his breath, Brad curses, quickly scooting away from Nate. "Sorry, I didn't—"

"No," Nate says. "It's not that, it's just...I didn't think you..." _liked me back,_ he doesn't say. Brad hates stuff like that, too. When Brad crushes their mouths together, though, Nate has his answer. It's a lot less chaste this time, what with Brad's tongue in his mouth and Brad's hand in his hair, the other one trying to pull Nate impossibly closer.

Eventually, Brad gives up, pulling Nate into his lap. His palms are moving across Nate's back like he's trying to feel every inch of Nate. Underneath him, Nate can feel Brad getting hard underneath him, and Nate's turned on too, just from this. Just from getting to first base with his best friend and they're definitely going to need to talk about this later, but now—

Now, Nate can't do anything but arch into Brad's touch, seeking more. Right now, nothing seems like enough. Before he can stop it, a moan escapes from his throat, making Brad laugh.

He loses track of time like that, his and Brad's mouths moving together and apart and together again in a slow, easy haze, and when he snaps back into it, Brad's unbuttoning his jeans. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah, c'mon," and Brad pulls Nate's down, too.

They should've brought a towel, but Nate had no idea this was going to happen, though when Brad flips him over and rubs his cock against Nate's, Nate can't seem to care. He's never done this before; it should be weird but it's not, not at all, just skin on skin and Brad biting eagerly at Nate's neck, making these little encouraging sounds every so often.

"Shit," Brad mumbles into Nate's collarbone. "You're so..." he trails off, hand closing around Nate's dick and moving in long, steady strokes that are probably Brad's way of making Nate lose his mind.

Nate comes too soon, fingers digging into the firm flesh of Brad's ass. His hips stutter out of rhythm, and then he goes weak against Brad. His limbs feel heavy and useless, but Brad just keeps rutting against him, a groan escaping his mouth before he stills.

When Brad catches his breath, he says, "We should've done this weeks ago. Probably would've kept you from losing your fucking mind over school."

"I'm not losing my mind over school!" Nate protests. He shoves Brad away, but it's half-hearted.

"Yes, you are," Brad insists. "That's what happens when you apply to nine colleges. Only crazy, masochistic motherfuckers do shit like that." His lips quirk into a grin, mocking.

"And you're an irresponsible, authority-hating asshole, but I'm still friends with you, aren't I?" Nate retorts.

"Touché," Brad sighs, lighting another cigarette. "You hungry?"

"I could eat," Nate says, but for a little while neither of them move, just stare up at the sky. He thinks the sun might even be starting to come out.


End file.
